The Elf Queen of Shannara

But this . . .

“Oh, Garth,” she whispered in dismay. “I trusted you!”

You lost nothing by doing so, Wren.

“Didn’t I?”

They faced each other, silent, motionless. Everything that had happened to Wren since Cogline had first come to her those many weeks past seemed to gather and settle on her shoulders like an enormous weight. So many harrowing escapes, so many deaths, so much lost—she felt it all, the whole of it, come together in a single moment, in this truth terrible and unexpected.

Had you known before coming, it might have changed everything. Your mother understood that. Your father as well. Perhaps I would have told you if I could, but my promise bound me. The big frame shifted, and the sharply etched bones of the other’s face lifted into the light. Tell me, if you can, that I should have done otherwise. Tell me, Wren, that I should have broken my promise.

Her mouth was a tight, bitter line. “You should have.”

He held her gaze, dark eyes flat and expressionless.

“No,” she admitted finally, tears in her eyes. “You shouldn’t have.” She looked away, empty and lost. “But that doesn’t help. Everyone has lied to me. Everyone. Even you. The Addershag was right, Garth, and that’s what hurts. There were too many lies, too many secrets, and I wasn’t part of any of them.”

She cried silently, head lowered. “Someone should have trusted me. My whole life has been changed, and I have had nothing to say about it. Look what’s been done!”

One big hand brushed her own. Think, Wren. The choices have all been yours. No one has made them for you; no one has shown you the way. Had you known the truth of things, had you understood the expectations held for you, would it have been the same? Could you say the choices were yours in that case?

She looked back, hesitant.

Would it have been better to know you were Ellenroh Elessedil’s granddaughter, that the Elfstones you thought painted rocks were real, that when you grew to womanhood you would one day be expected to travel to Morrowindl and, because of a prophecy given before you were born, save the Elves? How free would you have been to act then? How much would you have grown? What would you have become?

She took a deep breath. “I don’t know. But perhaps I should have been given the chance to find out.”

The light was stronger now as dawn broke somewhere beyond the pall of the mist and trees. Faun lifted her head from out of Wren’s lap where she had lain motionless. Triss had come back from the edge of the dark; he stood watching them in silence. The night sounds had died away, and the frantic movement had ceased. In the distance, the sounds of Killeshan’s eruption continued unabated, steady and ominous. The earth shook faintly, and the fire of the lava rose skyward into gray smoke and ash.

Garth stirred, his hands moving. Wren, he signed. I did what I was asked, what I promised. I did the best I could. I wish it had not been necessary to deceive you. I wish I had been able to give you the chance you ask for.

She looked at him for a long time, and finally nodded. “I know.”

The strong, dark face was rigid with concentration. Don’t be angry with your mother and father. They did what they thought they had to do, what they believed was right.

She nodded again. She did not trust herself to speak.

You must find a way to forgive us all.

She swallowed hard. “I wish . . . I wish I didn’t hurt so much.”

Wren, look at me.

She did so, reluctantly, warily.

We are not finished yet. There is one thing more.

She felt a chill settle in the pit of her stomach, an ache of something sensed but not yet fully realized. She saw Stresa appear out of the trees to one side, lumbering heavily, winded and damp. He slowed as he approached them, aware that something was happening, a confrontation perhaps, a revelation, a thing inviolate.

“Stresa,” Wren greeted quickly, anxious to avoid hearing any more from Garth.

The Splinterscat swung his blunt cat face from one human to the other. “We can go now,” he said. “In fact, we should. The mountain is coming down. Sooner or later it will reach here.”

“We must hurry,” she agreed, rising. She snatched up the Ruhk Staff, then looked down anxiously at her injured friend. “Garth?”

We need to speak alone first.

Her throat tightened anew. “Why?”

Ask the others to go ahead a short distance and wait for us. Tell them we won’t be long.

She hesitated, then looked at Stresa and Triss. “I need a moment with Garth. Wait for us up ahead. Please.”

They stared back at her without speaking, then nodded reluctantly, Triss first, lean face expressionless, and Stresa with sharp-eyed suspicion.

“Take Faun,” she asked as an afterthought, disengaging the Tree Squeak from its perch on her shoulder and setting it gently on the ground.